


Scourge

by ScriptrixDraconum



Series: "Hero" Companion Piece [9]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-09 04:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5524922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScriptrixDraconum/pseuds/ScriptrixDraconum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Schemer’s favor, I rid this land of filth. Their blood is mine, and their souls, his. Darkness is my haven, and Tamriel is my harvest. I am Torug Dragonbane, the Scourge of Skyrim, and my children will inherit Nirn. [Teaser short story preceding “Hero of Light”, Book 3 of the Hero Series. ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**_Death is the king of this world: 'tis his park_ **

**_where he breeds life to feed him._ **

**_Cries of pain are music for his banquet._ **

_(George Eliot, Spanish Gypsy, Book II. 1868.)_

 


	2. Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this is a story involving a man becoming lost to the will of dragons and Molag Bal, and will center around that theme, not shying away.
> 
> Content warning: violent sexual assault (low detail, past tense)

_"We were made to dominate._  
_The will to power is in our blood._  
_You feel it in yourself, do you not?"_

She was not unattractive, at least for a Dunmer. She must have been young, no more than twenty Orsimer years. Her mellow green-grey skin was flawless, and she had worn her dark hair in two coiled braids. Modest jewelry still hung at her neck and ears, and her pretty if not plain merchant’s dress showed few signs of wear. Most striking, her eyes had been a deep luminous scarlet before I had stolen their light.

The bloodlust had been too great, the dragon blood within me broiling, and craving more. More release, more excitement, more domination. Fleeing from the death scene of the Bear of Markarth had been a rush. The Nord’s blood on my mace meant freedom for the Forsworn, or at least a step in that direction.

Freedom. Was I free? Hiding in this private chamber aboard the Northern Maiden, covered in Ulfric Stormcloak’s blood, cradling a dead Dunmer. Set on a course for a land I’d never set foot on, I certainly didn’t feel free. I was placing myself in exile. I would hide a while in the port town of Raven Rock, and rely on tenuous contacts to provide shelter and perhaps food and coin.

But what of this girl in my arms? I should leave her here. Use this Dragon Voice to conceal myself and move to a different empty compartment. Yes.

I lifted the limp body from my lap. Her skirts fell from around her waist, hiding the delicate trail of blood that trickled down her inner thighs. One of her braids uncoiled and swayed as I maneuvered her to lie on the bench. Her mouth, accentuated by dark lipstick, hung agape. I lowered her eyelids over her dulled eyes.

As I lumbered and stared, I felt a small sadness. The girl did not have to die. I didn’t think she would suffocate, but I had to prevent her from screaming. I had to do it. The frenzy only lasted several long and glorious moments before passion overcame me and I held her too tightly. Such a waste, her death. I would have enjoyed taking her again.

“ _Feim_.” I muttered the draconic word, and faded into the shadows.


	3. Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: sexual assault (no detail); murder; physical injury; scarification.

_"When your enemies lie_   
_broken and bloody before you,_   
_know that I will be watching."_

_You enjoyyyed it._

Mogrul turned me away. So much for my contact. Luckily, an Orsimer hunting party was camped just outside the city. They allowed me to join them once they learned who I was. One week of traveling and hunting led us to interesting places, among them a werebear camp, haunted ruins, and a dragon lair. We slaughtered the rabid werebeasts and draugr with ease. The enormous dragon, however, was surprisingly difficult to kill, and the effects of its soul intertwining with mine renewed my desire for domination. I became stir crazy.

_You hungerrr._

The three hunters were a trusting lot. The men received a dagger across the throat. The woman thrashed and kicked, but even her tusks biting into my flesh could not save her. Unlike the delicate Dunmer, this female survived, and would have taken my head as a trophy were it not for the Dragon Voice. Perhaps she thawed slowly under the dimmed Solstheim sun.

_Morrre_.

The savages in the frozen north could not protect themselves with their nature magic. The village, desolate even before my arrival, provided enough food and shelter, and even a wealth of weapons and armor made of a glassy, unfamiliar metal. I tucked my new fancy dagger into my boot, and strapped a greatsword to my knapsack. A returning huntress helped me test the sword as it cut straight through her waist from side to side.

" _Seventyyy."_

My gaze shot to the sky. The deep voice had sounded from the clouds, bodiless.

"Seventy what?" I growled, continuing to look around the village and sky.

" _New souls in my gardennn._ "

Garden. Garden? "Where are you? Show yourself!"

" _Mmm, yes. A stronnng Champion, for once. Perhaps you are able to behold your Prinnnce."_

The air around me flashed a deep purple, and then before me loomed a massive horned creature, with glowing eyes and a sinewy body. It growled and snapped its fanged maw as it paced to one side and back, studying me.

"Orsimerrr," it said.

I remained silent, waiting for the creature to explain itself.

Its eyes dimmed and flared red. The metal of its atypical loincloth clanged as it swayed with each step. Skulls of the freshly slain dangled from iron hooks attached to a belt, knocking against one another with a hollow sound.

"I have watcheddd you," it continued, "since Cidddhna. You have delivered seventy soullls. Have you not counted? Pityyy."

The creature waved a clawed hand, and a wash of searing heat claimed my left forearm. I flinched at the magical injury, not familiar with such tactics. I dropped the sword I had been holding in my right hand, and grasped my left wrist. The muscles of my injured arm were in seizure, clenched against the pain.

Steam rose from my flesh, and I watched as seven linear welts formed parallel down the underside of the forearm. The pain, overwhelming at first, dissipated quickly.

My face jerked upward, and I caught the creature's gaze. My lips were taught with rage. "What did you do!?"

The creature laughed, a deep but grating sound. "I have rewarded your… sedddulousness." The creature approached, and grasped the wounded arm, claws digging into the fresh scars. "Seven marks. Onnne for every tennn."

The creature loosed its grip, and backed away, grinning.

I huffed through my nose. "What do you mean? What are you!?"

The creature froze in its position, a hand splayed upon its chest, head cocked to one side. Its long fingers curled into a fist, and the scars on my arm cut as deep as daggers. The pain brought me to my knees.

" _I_ am your Lord Bal. You should know me, orc." The creature spat the common tongue word for my race. "You have served meee since the day you took herrr. The tiny Bosmerrr, a thief, in the Minnne. How was it, your first?" Its eyes flashed red again. "By her screammms, I would presume"—it licked a fang—"delightful."

An image of the tiny elf woman flickered in my mind as I recalled the day I had her, the day we all had her. The pain in my arm continued, worsening with every breath.

"What of… the bitch?" I inhaled sharply, struggling to speak. "That was… years… ago, and I serve no one but… Malacath, and the Forsworn!"

The creature snarled. "You serve yourself! You serve your bloood and your raaage and your cccock!"

The pain in my arm trickled across my elbow and up toward my shoulder.

"You have served me in spppirit! Nowww you will serve me in fleshhh." The creature advanced upon me and took my head in its palm. Claws dug into the back of my head, but the pain in my arm ceased. "Youuu, orc, desire power. I desire soullls. Make others subbbmit to you. Take themmm as you willl— _killl_ them as you willl. Deliver me one thouuusand souls, and I will make you the most powerful, fearsome… _immmortal_ Dragonborn that has orrr will _ever_ exissst."

I lurched away from the creature's grip and rose to my feet, dwarfed in height but unflinching in front of this menacing beast. "What do you mean, immortal? How? Do you propose to make me a god? I already have all the power I need." I turned to leave.

" _Not_ if you want to best the mage."

I halted in my step. I turned around. "The Nord."

"The Aedra have abannndoned you. They see how stronnng a will you have, how willld a heart. They have created a newww Dragonborn, of the very breathhh of… _Arkayyy_." The creature's face contorted in disgust at the mention of the human god's name. "You cannot meet the power you seeek without destroying the onnne who displaced you." The creature leaned forward, and ran a sharp claw along the edge of my beard. "Killl the Red Mage, and you strike at the hearrrt of Arkay and Akatosh, yourrr betrayerrrs, your… abannndoners. Kill her, and you shift the power to Oblivion – to _meee_." Its fist jerked my beard. I attempted to swat it away, accomplishing nothing. "Volendrung will not last lonnng in your grasp. Agree to serve Molag Balll, and my mace you will find in its steaddd." The creature released me, and took several steps back.

"Molag Bal," I repeated, naming the creature.

"Ninety-three of tennn, and you will see me againnn."

In another purple flash, the Daedra Lord was gone.


	4. Slaughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not terribly sure if I'm going to continue this any time soon. It takes more energy to write it than I thought it would. I'm using it as a background plot mechanism for the Hero Series, and that's about it. I do want to write snippets of what Torug is up to, and I probably will, I just don't know when. All I really needed to do is have him encounter both Bal and Mora, and I did that. Everything else is just extra which will be explored in "Hero of Light" anyway.

  **Slaughter**

_“The Adversary has many aspects._  
_He appears in the unholy beasts and the incurable plague._  
_At the End of Seasons, we will know him as_  
_Thartaag the World-Devourer._  
_But in these ages he came to be known as_  
_the Greedy Man.”_

The end of my new blue, glassy blade ripped into the dragon’s neck, and its body jerked violently. It was a smaller dragon than the others I had slain, but I was nonetheless eager for its power. As I wiped its dark blood onto the snow, a dull thrumming sounded from the beast.

“Don’t you grumble at me,” I warned at the dead creature. “You knew you didn’t stand a chance.”

I sheathed my sword and stepped forward. The small dragon might have been young, or even weak. I wondered if I would even feel the joining. Bigger, stronger dragons made their mark, but most dragon’s souls merely tickled. I wondered how many human souls a dragon’s was worth. Did Molag Bal want beasts, as well? Only time would tell.

The thrumming became louder. The noise was definitely coming from the dragon. I backed off somewhat, wanting to avoid initiating the joining until the source of the noise was found. I walked around the beast’s head and to the other side. Nothing. There was nothing.

I scratched my head, and then whispered, “ _Laas_.” Nothing glowed red but myself.

Chuckling sounded from behind me. I spun around, but saw nothing but the treeline. The voice was similar to that of Molag Bal, but far loftier.

Annoyed at the invisible visitors of late, I stomped back toward the dragon and reached out. All it took was one touch, one glancing brush of the tip of a finger, and the soul was mine. But before I reached the animal, the light of its soul emerged, and its flesh began to degenerate. I lurched back, confused, but then grabbed one of the horns upon its head.

“You’re mine!” I snarled. But the swirls of light stretched skyward like steam, ignoring the proper path toward me.

“Not this one,” the ethereal voice boomed. In a flash, the soul was gone, and the dry bones of the dragon collapsed into the snow.

Screaming, I kicked a rib and sent the others flying. “What the fuck was that!?”

With huffing breaths, I stared at the dragon’s maw. At least I could gather my trophy.

The teeth were surprisingly difficult to remove. Perhaps this reflected the dragon’s age. The largest of the teeth was just about ready to wriggle loose when a blast of fire exploded not far from me.

“ _Feim zii gron!”_ The Shout was instinctual, a preservation method against unknown threats.

I turned around, and was met with seven robed, masked figures. The robes were in tatters and the bone-white masks looked something like a spider. Several of the figures carried staves, but the others readied spells of fire or lightning between their palms. That they did not attack immediately told me they knew I was currently invulnerable.

I only had a few more moments. My pack was sitting by the dragon skeleton, but being ethereal, I could not grab it. I considered the two options: run, and prepare to take on seven mages of unknown skill, or meet the miserable fucks head-on.

I chose the latter.

Though my body and the gear I was wearing were all immaterial, I could still grasp the weapons strapped to me. In one hand I held the longsword found in the temple of the Blades. In the other, Volendrung.

I approached the masked mages, thinking about which Shout to use on them. Fire? Ice? No. How about some wind?

The moment I began to rematerialize, took in a deep breath. “ _Ven gaar nos!_ ”

Wind picked up dust and debris around the mages before gaining strength and knocking some of them to the ground. The cyclone continued to grow in size, eventually picking up several mages, tearing away their masks.

I could have crushed them, were it not for the danger the Shout had caused even to myself. As I turned away, the wind began to howl, mixing with screams. I wasn’t going to stick around to find out who they were, and if they were somehow connected to whoever stole my dragon soul.

The thief wasn’t the Nord mage. The voice belonged to a man. An invisible man. Perhaps the thief was a Daedra.

No matter. Soon, I will deliver enough souls to Molag Bal. Soon, I would be invincible.

. . . . . .

They fell like children, the mindless northmen. They were building something, a structure set around a standing stone. I could feel the power emanating from the stone, from the entire place. Someone had put a spell on these people, turning them into slave laborers. They were half-starved, and sunburnt. I briefly wondered how long they had been like this.

It didn’t matter. I put them out of their misery.

I shouted toward the sky. “Sixteen more for you, Bal!” I didn’t expect an answer, and received none. Sixteen was nothing. He needed more. Many more.

A thought occurred to me: to find more of these stones, these slaves. There was no sport to it, no hunt. It was a slaughter. Fish in a barrel. Still, they were souls. The problem was knowing where to look. I had no map of this land, no guide. Until now I had been content to simply wander, taking what and who I wanted.

Staring at the bodies around me, I couldn’t help but feel a little lonely. I missed Madanach and the Forsworn. I missed the Blades. Fuck, I even missed Delphine.

Perhaps it was time to return to Skyrim. Solitude docks, this time, not Windhelm. Never Windhelm, never again. From Solitude it was an easy journey to the northernmost Forsworn camp.

Yes, it was time.

“Leaving… ssso… soon?”

The rasping, weak voice came from an elderly man I had just killed. I turned to watch his dead body begin to move. His arm slid slowly from above his shoulder down to his side, and with borrowed strength, the corpse pushed itself to its feet.

I backed away, and held my weapons at the ready. “What are you?” I asked of the corpse.

“This… is not meee,” the corpse said. “I am… biggerrr.” The corpse shuffled one foot forward, and then another.

“Hold! Keep your distance, corpse.”

“C-corpse?” The thing looked upon itself, and stared at the blood on its hands. “Yes. That… would be the onnnly way.”

“Only way for what? Name yourself!”

The old man turned his head to me. His dead eyes failed to follow his smiling mouth. “I ammm, as this mannn knewww… Hermmma Mora. This mannn, was… my servannnt. Many… decades. Now, stolennn. His work, _my_ … work, ssstolen, by my Championnn. My… Champion, who… I thhhought, confinnned to the Apocccrypha… willed the Skaaal to labor for himmm. My Championnn… stollle knowledge not meant… for mmmortal minnnds.”

The corpse faltered, but righted itself after a moment. “My… Championnn… is no longer minnne. But, youuu….” The old man raised his hand, and a single finger pointed at me. “You, Dragonbornnn, can defeat himmm. Yes. You are… the _onnnly_ one. Not… the _other_ onnne. She… has knowledge. _You_ , strength! Power. My Champion… is powerful. Many drrragon soulsss. You, too, many. She, few. You, Dragonbornnn… will be my _new_ Championnn, if… you can defeat… Miraak.”

“Miraak?” I stared at the corpse, wondering what to believe. “Wait, did you say this Champion, this… Miraak… had dragon souls in him?” I stepped toward the corpse. “Is he Dragonborn?”

The corpse smiled again, grinning as much as his dead muscle would allow. His voice deepened when he answered with, “The First.” The corpse fell to its knees with a grunt. “Go… east. Fffind… temple. Big. Cannn’t… miss.”

Gasping one last time, the corpse then fell forward and face-planted into the snow.

Herma Mora. Hermaeus Mora. Was he not a great Daedra, like Molag Bal? Why could he not materialize as Bal had? Why possess the corpse of a follower?

The First Dragonborn. I found that hard to believe. Was he undead? Was this the invisible fucker who stole my dragon soul!?

I growled. “Fuck.” I shook my head, gathered my belongings along with anything useful found at the site, and headed east.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragon Shouts:  
> Laas – Aura Whisper  
> Feim zii gron – Become Ethereal  
> Ven gaar nos - Cyclone


End file.
